


Hints of Human Imperfection

by monchy



Category: Glee
Genre: I Don't Even Know, M/M, Piercings, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-20
Updated: 2013-11-20
Packaged: 2018-01-02 04:19:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1052432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/monchy/pseuds/monchy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurt has dimensions and drinks too much coffee. Sebastian smokes too much and gets punched. They eat, they fuck, they yell. Hunter is generally amused.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hints of Human Imperfection

Sebastian blames the stud. Mostly because he needs to blame something to quench his newfound interest in one Kurt Hummel, but also because it’s the tiny detail that suddenly makes him think of Kurt in a completely different way.

It’s surprising, to say the least, when Blaine’s new campaign to make a friend out of Sebastian once they move to New York ends up with Sebastian’s head more filled with Kurt Hummel than he would have thought possible. It’s annoying, how the thought of Kurt having a tongue stud and a tattoo – a bit of information gathered from a too drunk Santana – suddenly makes Sebastian question everything he ever thought of him.

Kurt’s a diva. He’s a bitchy diva who likes weird clothes he calls fashion, Broadway musicals and has pledged his love to only two things in life: skin-care and Blaine. The fact that he’s also the guy who gets drunk and pierces his tongue makes him someone who doesn’t fit into the Kurt-shaped box Sebastian has in his brain. For some reason, that pisses him off.

“So, the stud,” Hunter says, looking at him as if he’s lost his mind. He’s rolling a cigarette between his fingers, slow and continuous, as if thinking if he wants to light it. Sebastian’s half-way through his own.

He takes it away from his mouth and says, “Yes, the stud.”

“The tongue stud,” Hunter repeats, this time taking the cigarette to his own lips.

Sebastian offers a light when Hunter can’t find one, sees the orange tip illuminate their hands for a second. It’s a stupid vice they both picked-up at the same time, because Hunter’s hands need to be busy and because Sebastian wanted to piss his father off. It also gives them something to do during their breaks at the crappy Starbucks job they both took.

“I don’t get it,” Hunter says, nodding, the smoke creating a halo around him. “So the guy pierced his tongue, so what?”

Sebastian sighs, bites at the end of his own cigarette. “Look,” he starts, “Kurt Hummel likes Broadway, fashion and Blaine. Now, apparently, he pierces his stupid tongue, too. It’s like… like he suddenly has all of these _dimensions_.”

Hunter looks at him for a minute, appraises him in that quiet way he has. Sebastian’s not sure he wants to know what he’s seeing.

 “Like you’re more than just a smirky bastard who likes sex?”

 Like that. Yeah, exactly like that, Sebastian thinks.

 “Fuck you, Clarington,” Sebastian says. “I hate it when you get all insightful on me.”

Hunter laughs, quiet and soft as he crushes his barely half-finished cigarette under the sole of his shoe. “The guy’s getting married, Seb,” he says, “so you better ask for a threesome or find yourself some tongue-pierced freak to fuck.”

 

* * *

 

Sebastian does exactly that. He gets bored half-way through an unenthusiastic blowjob and admits defeat. Maybe there’s more to it than the piercing. Maybe it’s all about _Kurt Hummel_ having one, and about him not using his tongue to blow Sebastian.

 

* * *

 

The thing is, Kurt’s not even supposed to be in his radar. Besides Blaine’s obvious and puppy-like enthusiasm to make Sebastian and Hunter part of their little New York gang, and the fact that Santana only despises them about ninety-five per cent of the time, Kurt’s nothing but a figure in the sidelines, a shadow that Blaine can drone on and on about.

The Kurt Blaine talks about fits Sebastian’s little box and that should please him, should make him forget about the things about Kurt that make him un-Kurt like in Sebastian’s head; instead, it makes him wonder what the hell Kurt-who-pierces-his-tongue is doing with Blaine-just-Blaine.

Blaine doesn’t have dimensions. He’s a puppy like guy who likes bowties and Katy Perry songs, and while endearing most of the time, Sebastian doesn’t remember why he wanted to get into his pants so badly. Not that he doesn’t have a fine ass, but there’s only so much of Blaine’s particular lack of awareness and cutesy routine that he can take.

He watches them when he can, pointedly ignoring Hunter’s disapproving eyes and slowly trying to put together the reasons that have Kurt wearing a ring around his finger. All he discovers is that Kurt’s closet hides way weirder clothes than he initially thought, that his singing voice does things that aren’t human and that he drinks more coffee than any living person should. Curiously enough, though, he also watches the way his relationship with Blaine begins coming apart at the seams.

They never fight. They say _I love you_ so much that it’s sickening, sing songs to each other and talk fashion. He only sees them kiss once, when Blaine is so drunk that he zeros in on Kurt’s lips and Kurt gets kissed before he can stop it. He scrunches his nose when it’s over, reminds Blaine how much he dislikes public displays of affection, and steers him towards a cab. Sebastian thinks that if Kurt were to kiss him he’d hate the cigarette breath on his mouth, and that if they were to date they would fight over everything, and never talk about fashion.

 

* * *

 

Kurt and Blaine stop being _KurtandBlaine_ somewhere around November, while a particularly jarring rendition of _Santa Baby_ sounds over the speakers at the tiny café Hunter loves so much.

“Fuck, honestly? It’s not even mid-November,” Hunter whines, huffing at the speakers as if willing them to change the song.

Sebastian’s not paying attention, looking two tables over at the way Kurt is standing up and Blaine is following, their body language closed and angry. He watches as they stop almost in front of them, as if they wanted to offer them a play to watch, and catches the last of Kurt’s speech.

“–I’m not some perfect little fantasy, Blaine! I’m a real person, and I’m bitchy and petty and sometimes I have things in my life that don’t include you, you have to understand that!”

Blaine doesn’t understand. Sebastian sees it in his honest and big eyes, spies the way his fantasy of eternal devotion and Disney-like romance begins to crumble at Kurt’s words. Kurt keeps talking, low enough that the song still feels too loud, low enough that Sebastian can almost tone him out and try to find a flash of his piercing peeking out from his angry moving lips.

He comes back when Hunter pokes his cheek, and as he’s batting his hand away he notices that Rachel, Santana and Star-what-the-fuck-ever have made a little circle around the couple, and look like they don’t know what to do as Kurt keeps talking.

“–It’s so difficult with you, you know? You get your own friends and your little projects and your whatever you wish, but the moment I start doing something that doesn’t involve you, I’m afraid that if I don’t pay enough attention to you, you will…” he draws in a breath, repeats, “you will…”

Sebastian knows this is not his fight, nor his place to intervene, but when everyone stays silent, he says, “Jump onto the first willing dick he finds?”

The gasp is collective; the slap that follows only comes from one Rachel Berry.

“What the fuck!?” Sebastian exclaims, taking his hand to his own cheek and helplessly watching as Kurt leaves the café quickly followed by all of his entourage. Berry doesn’t even glance back at him.

Hunter snickers, and soon enough, his shoulders are shaking with quiet laughter. Sebastian glares, his hand still cupping his probably reddening cheek.

“In Barbra’s defense, you probably had that one coming a long time ago,” Hunter says.

Sebastian sighs, defeated, “Fuck you. And buy me coffee, I’ve been unfairly attacked.”

              

* * *

 

The break-up is official three days later, or so Santana tells him when he offers to buy her and her guitar-playing girlfriend a drink in exchange for a follow up of the events after the fight. He ends up buying half a bar and having to listen to the re-telling of the slap story in great detail and with great delight, but when Santana tells him that after a day of ice-cream and _The Notebook_ Kurt had gotten a second mysterious tattoo in some secret place, he can’t say that he minds.

He didn’t think Kurt was the type to get second tattoos. He clearly doesn’t know a lot about Kurt with the piercing and the tattoos, Kurt who’s a bitchy, petty but real person, Kurt who’s aware that Blaine isn’t perfect.

               

* * *

 

They find each other a couple of weeks later, Sebastian leaving Starbucks after a particularly tiring shift and Kurt stepping out of the shop with a warm, too big coffee between his hands. They stop and stare, Kurt’s blue eyes a beacon even on a sunny afternoon.

“I’d apologize for the slap,” Kurt starts, “but Rachel’s wanted to do that since she met you.”

Sebastian shrugs and lights a cigarette, watching as Kurt scrunches his nose when the first puff of smoke leaves his mouth. It’s the first time they’ve been alone since their days back in Lima, and Sebastian secretly loves that he’s already pissing him off.

“Ugh, I hate cigarettes.”

Sebastian smiles, happy that he predicted that bit in the Kurt Hummel puzzle. Then, he asks, “Wanna grab some dinner?”

He wouldn’t have asked Kurt back in Lima, not when Kurt despised him and was nothing but a neat little box in his head. Kurt has dimensions, though, and a piercing and two tattoos and no Blaine, and maybe he wants to grab a bite with Sebastian. Kurt says yes, and then insults him when he blows some smoke too close to his face. Sebastian smirks, laughs a bit, and Kurt punches his arm.

They have dinner at some dingy place Kurt suggests that has the best hamburger Sebastian has ever tasted, and Sebastian mocks him because he never pictured him in a place like this. He also insults his clothes and his friends, but he pays for dinner. Kurt insults him right back, and at some point they’re laughing and laughing and laughing, and Kurt’s laughter is surprisingly clear, and not at all contained.

When they get to Kurt’s place, Sebastian follows, no questions asked. Kurt offers him a drink, and then turns into a nervous wreck, babbling and moving around and shaking his hands like that will make Sebastian not be there anymore.

“Relax, babe,” Sebastian tells him. He invades his personal space, rubs his arms up and down over the seven hundred layers of clothing he’s wearing and breathes near his face. “Relax,” he repeats, “have some fun, be yourself.”

“I don’t know why you’re here, Sebastian.”

Sebastian smirks, crowds his space, kisses him. It’s too soon since the Blaine thing, he knows. There are rules for this kind of thing, but Kurt breaks all the rules in Sebastian’s neat little universe, so he kisses him. Kurt opens up, lets himself be pushed to the nearest wall and breathes out when Sebastian’s tongue searches for the small stud on his tongue. He finds it, the metallic taste that mixes with Kurt’s coffee breath and prods at it, moans just thinking about how it would feel if Kurt were to lick him everywhere.

“Sebastian, Sebastian,” Kurt calls when Sebastian finds himself buried in his neck, planting kisses over incredibly soft skin and letting his hands wander to Kurt’s half-hard cock. “I don’t know if–”

“Can I blow you?” Sebastian asks, licking up to Kurt’s ear and sucking at the lobe there. “I really want to blow you, babe, can I?”

Sebastian spies the hesitancy, but also the fire and the lust and all those things that Sebastian didn’t know Kurt possessed. There’s some primal and careless part of Kurt that Sebastian can call to, and he does, because suddenly he thinks he’ll never stop thinking of Kurt if he doesn’t make him come. He kisses him again, letting Kurt invade his mouth with his tongue, all meat and metal, and then draws back and goes to his knees. He waits for permission.

“Fine, fine,” Kurt says, “God, I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Sebastian smirks as he makes quick work of Kurt’s belt, pulling his pants and underwear down fast right after. “You’re letting go, babe,” he says, licking a stripe up Kurt’s freed cock, and holding onto his knees just to feel them tremble. “It’s super hot.”

“God, I hate your stupid smirk,” Kurt informs him. “And you taste like an ashtray.”

“You taste like three day old coffee, but you don’t hear me whining.”

Kurt comes with a loud moan, his ass squeezed in Sebastian’s hands and his cock buried inside his mouth. He looks relaxed after, boneless and tired in the best kind of way. Sebastian kisses him and ruts helplessly against his thigh, too high-strung to ask for more. When Kurt licks a long, wet stripe up his neck, the piercing sliding cold and smooth against his skin, he comes in his pants in a way he hasn’t in ages.

“God,” Kurt says after, when their breathing is still labored. “I want a donut.”

 

* * *

 

“I’m thinking about asking Barbra out on a date,” Hunter tells him when he gets home.

Sebastian’s still glowing, wrapped inside the idea of Kurt and Kurt’s cock and his piercing sliding over his skin. He opens a window and lights up a cigarette, feels how the smoke erases the taste of Kurt’s caffeinated mouth and of the donut he’d eaten.

“I mean,” Hunter’s saying, “I thought she was an uptight, Broadway-loving chick, you know? Too much on the megalomaniac side for me, as well.” He smiles, looks up at Sebastian’s surely still glowing eyes. “Ever since she slapped you, though, it’s like… like she has all of these _dimensions_ , you know?”

Sebastian throws a finished pack of cigarettes at him, smirks when it hits him right on the head. “Fuck you, Clarington.”

Hunter smiles yet again. “So, should I? Ask her out?”

Sebastian shrugs, takes a drag of his cigarette. “Too megalomaniac for you? Please, you’re practically Doctor No. Take the girl out to a nice place; she’s had a rough year.”

 

* * *

 

Sebastian rides the glow of his orgasm with Kurt until Blaine comes to him and, no explanations given, punches him right on the face. For such a tiny guy, he has a mean right hook.

“Oh my God, what the fuck is wrong with you people?” he exclaims, looking at Blaine as if he’s gone completely crazy.

Blaine points at him, serious and angry in a way that makes him look as if his body is too small to contain him. “Stay away from Kurt, you hear me?”

Sebastian can’t help himself; he smirks, and says, “Oh, this is about that? Because princess sounded like he was enjoying himself. And that piercing on his tongue? Can’t wait for him to use it on my cock.”

Blaine punches him again. In hindsight, he probably deserved the second one.

 

* * *

 

Kurt finds him a few hours later. He knocks on his door, and even while calling him an idiot, he puts some ice on his face and kisses him thoroughly. Sebastian’s pretty sure this is half pity and half trying to rebel against his still bubbling feelings for Blaine, but he takes it anyway, and doesn’t say a word when Kurt gets on his knees for him.

The tongue stud is a thing of wonder, a bit of metallic joy inside Kurt’s mouth that caresses Sebastian’s cock like it was made for it. Sebastian comes, but he doesn’t let Kurt follow immediately, and instead takes him to his bed, gets him naked and under him and works his way over his body and his oversensitive skin.

Kurt opens up beautifully. Suddenly, while caressing the soft skin on the inside of Kurt’s thighs, Sebastian sees everything that Kurt is, the Kurt that pierces his tongue and comes alive when he’s on a stage, the Kurt that holds himself so tight inside his clothes but that becomes a writhing mass of moans once he’s out of them.

Kurt doesn’t let him take full control, instead riding his cock and making Sebastian open up right back, surge up and forward and kiss and suck and fuck with more freedom than he’s ever felt. It’s a thing of beauty, honestly, culminated with a groan hidden between Kurt’s lips, stolen by his piercing and his tongue, wrenched out of him by all of his body.

Sebastian had thought Kurt was black and white, but as it turns out, he’s every color imaginable.

“Wow, every color imaginable?” Hunter wonders. “You’ve got it bad.”

“Shut up,” Sebastian answers. “I’ve had a spiritual awakening.”

“Is that what you call a really good orgasm?”

 

* * *

 

They start dating after that. Sort of.

They don’t have a name for what they do, and Sebastian’s not in any rush to put a label on amazing sex and the weirdest relationship he has ever concocted in his already crazy line of human socialization. The thing is, they’re not exactly the best people to try and waddle their way through any emotional rollercoaster, but that doesn’t mean that they’re not going to try.

Sebastian hates Kurt’s clothes, he hates his obsession with skin care and the way he can spend an unlimited amount of hours singing show tunes with his girlfriends. He hates that Kurt has girlfriends. He hates his selfishness and his bitchiness. He hates that he can’t tell what Kurt feels for him, and he hates that’s he’s probably a too early rebound or the bit of fun on the side he gets to have before going back to Blaine.

Kurt talks a lot about a lot of things Sebastian can’t even pretend to care about: fashion, celebrity gossip, trends, friendship and should he get that sweater in green or blue? Then again, Sebastian talks about a lot of things Kurt can’t stand: lacrosse, his pre-law degree, Hunter’s evil cat and late eighties action movies.

“God,” Kurt tells him, “you sure love hearing yourself talk.”

“Anything’s better than listening to you drone on and on about clothes, princess.”

He also hates Kurt’s friends. Rachel who’s screechy and hates him right back, Dani who’s as bland as they come and won’t stop singing Beatles songs, Elliott who talks about himself in the third person and is a six-foot-forever column of glitter, and Santana who fucking terrifies him half the time. Then again, Kurt can barely stand five minutes in the same room as Hunter without devolving into some stupid argument.

They argue, they fight, they yell. On paper, it kind of sucks.

But then there’s the sex, when Kurt is almost broken open and lets Sebastian have his share of moans and sweat and freedom. And the way they laugh, when they go out and strike the right note and make each other crumble between clear peals of laughter.

For all of his apparent stuck-up nature, Sebastian discovers that Kurt’s quite the hedonist. He likes sex, food, screeching too loudly to music he enjoys and dancing between sweaty bodies.

They fuck everywhere they can, and despite Kurt’s initial resistance when it comes to public displays of affection, Sebastian convinces him to let him blow him in the living room of his apartment while the girls are sleeping behind light curtains, and to rut against him in a changing room. They put Kurt’s tongue stud to good use, too.

“You’re obsessed with that thing,” Hunter tells him, offering him a cigarette that he doesn’t take because Kurt hates the smell on him.

Sebastian just wiggles his eyebrows. “You’d be obsessed, too.”

They sing and dance like crazy people, too. Kurt drags him to small musical productions that Sebastian secretly enjoys, and they spend long nights dancing against each other in noisy clubs, ignoring everyone around them but enjoying the smell of alcohol and sweat.

Mostly, they eat. They go out a lot, to the tiny Belgian place Hunter discovered that has the best waffles in town, to the Indian restaurant that feels like eating inside a Christmas tree, to the ice-cream parlor that has Kurt’s favorite cheesecake ice-cream, to the coffee shop with the sweetest muffins in the world. They find a cupcake tour of New York and follow it, stuffing themselves with so much butter cream in one single day that they can do nothing but lie together on the bed after. They go crazy in the kitchen, cooking sweet and salty at the same time and foregoing plates in exchange of eating whatever they put together from each other’s skin.

Without noticing, though, between their self-indulgence and their hate, they find the kind of trust that lets them open up to each other. Sebastian talks of his dad that he can’t help but want to please, of how grateful he is that Hunter puts up with him, of his days in Paris, of that one time he slept with some guy in a tiny bathroom and how he’s still not sure whether he wanted to or not. Kurt talks of being bullied, of how easy it is to sink into self-hatred sometimes, of his wonderful, incredible dad, of Finn, and Finn and Rachel, of that one time he got drunk and puked on his teacher’s shoes.

Sebastian doesn’t know what they’re doing, but he’s pretty sure he can’t blame the stud anymore.

 

* * *

 

“Your stupid boyfriend hates me,” Hunter informs him one day, “and he hates Mr. Puss.”

Sebastian barely spares him a glance, but says, “Everybody hates Mr. Puss. And he’s not my boyfriend.”

“Fine, then. The guy you sleep with and date exclusively and on a regular basis.”

Sebastian bristles, stands up from the couch he’s sharing with Hunter and whistles loudly. He puts both hands inside the back pockets of his jeans and looks down at Hunter. “Fuck, really?”

“Yep,” Hunter says, nodding, “Fuck, really.”

Sebastian shrugs, drops all his weight on the couch next to Hunter. He’s a bit dumbfounded. “What about you? Are you dating Barbra or what?”

“She’s not ready. We’re friends.”

Sebastian blinks at him. “You’re so Zen about this. I think I preferred you when you attacked baristas.”

“Fuck you, Smythe.”

“Can’t. Apparently, I have a boyfriend.”

 

* * *

 

Sebastian finds out that there’s no better way of ending a stressful day than in Kurt’s bed, sex, cuddles and donuts calling him in like a magical flute. He’s pretty sure he wants to tell Kurt something this time, though, but he forgets, busy licking that spot on Kurt’s hipbone that makes him giggle helplessly.

Later, he remembers that he was going to tell him that they were kind of boyfriends or something,  but Kurt’s already asleep.

 

* * *

 

Kurt’s friends start growing on him. Rachel’s too loud and determined to the point of bullheadedness, Santana is mean even when she’s being nice, Dani’s too quiet and Elliott is half freak-show, half shy child. Still, they make sense once he gets to really know Kurt. Kurt, too, seems to find a way to interact with Hunter, and even if it’s through mocking Sebastian, they end up getting along.

With Hunter kind of dating Rachel, too, their lives seem to be more and more interwoven as time goes by, hopelessly intertwined. Sebastian can’t say he minds.

So of course, that’s when everything comes crashing down.

He doesn’t see it coming, and it pisses him off because he’d seen the seams of Kurt’s and Blaine’s relationship coming apart slow and steady, and he can’t believe that he can be so blind when it comes to himself.

“Are we even boyfriends?” Kurt asks, his voice raw from yelling for what feels like hours.

Sebastian doesn’t know what to tell him, because the yelling started because he forgot some kind of fantasy anniversary Kurt has concocted in his head and Sebastian is stuck. He can’t be that. He can’t be the anniversary remembering, song singing, prince charming boyfriend that Kurt wants. He’ll fuck him and yell at him and listen to him and tell him the truth every time. He’ll take him to every restaurant he loves and listen to him talk about things he doesn’t even care. He won’t fake his way through this relationship, though. He will, however, always manage to screw up and say the wrong thing.

“I don’t know, princess,” he answers, rash and snappy and mean, “are we?”

 

* * *

 

A week later, Blaine manages to get half of NYADA to perform a singing extravaganza at Times Square so Kurt will take him back. Sebastian’s pretty sure that Kurt, who is full of colors, who kisses Sebastian, who eats donuts like a crazy person and who pierces his tongue won’t take him back. He can’t be sure, though, and the thought of it eats at him.

He smokes too much and swears off coffee because it reminds of Kurt. He must look like crap, because Rachel sees him and hugs him for longer than she’s ever even touched him, her tiny frame warm against his front.

“Don’t be an idiot about this,” she tells him. “Do something.”

“But no singing,” Hunter says. “Please no singing.”

Sebastian doesn’t want to do anything. He thinks that maybe, after all, Kurt-who-pierces-his-tongue is better off with Blaine-just-Blaine than with Sebastian-who-always-says-the-wrong-thing. Except that sounds a lot like defeat, and maybe, even if it’s the wrong thing, Sebastian should say something.

He buys a single flower, a token of how much he’s trying here, and shows up at Kurt’s doorstep. The sight of Kurt in his pajamas is familiar and welcome, and Sebastian smiles and starts talking.

“Look, babe, I had this whole idea of you, ok? And then you pierced your tongue and I have to blame that stupid stud because you were supposed to be a black and white diva and not this stupid swirl of color, and–”

“Sebastian, you’re not making any sense,” Kurt interrupts.

Sebastian shakes his head, takes a breath so he can keep talking, but Hunter’s raised voice coming from the inside of the apartment stops him with, “Tell him about the dimensions, Seb!”

“Fuck you, Clarington!” he yells right back.

“Watch out, or I’ll have my girlfriend slap you again!”

“You, ugh–” Kurt complains, scrunching his nose. “Stop, you two.”

He turns to Sebastian expectantly, and Sebastian nods as if he knows it’s his turn to keep talking. He takes another deep breath, and goes on.

“What I’m trying to say is that I can’t be what you want, ok? I can’t be Prince Charming and sing songs to you and watch that stupid notebook movie without complaining every second.” Kurt snorts, and Sebastian smiles before he keeps going. “Waking up next to you, though, is basically the best fucking thing that’s ever happened to me, and I _am_ your boyfriend and I think I kind of love you.” He stops, breathes in and then out. “And if you leave me for Blaine I’m going to hate you forever.”

“I’m not going to leave you,” Kurt says. He licks his lips, the tiny stupid tongue stud shining against his skin, and his blue eyes a beacon as always. “I think I kind of love you, too.”

“Well, good.”

“Yeah, good.”

They’re on each other in a split second, teeth, tongue, lips and piercing, hot puffs of breath on each other’s skin, kissing the way they do.

“Ugh, Sebastian,” Kurt tells him. “You taste like an ashtray.”

Sebastian presses a soft hand to Kurt’s cheek and breathes out as he smiles, saying, “And you taste like three day old coffee.”

They kiss again anyway.

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I've been a little stuck with my writing, so I tried a bit of an excercise in not over thinking a story and just writing non-stop. I feel it's a bit rushed, but as a whole, I like how this story came out.


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